painted an old chai shop on double road, think it's the best thing i've done this year

There's this tiny chai shop near Shanti Nagar double road, been there for maybe forty years, tucked between a jewellery showroom and a building that's already been sold for redevelopment. I've been meaning to paint it for months but kept putting it off, too many people, too much traffic, too self-conscious to sit there with my sketchbook.

Finally went this morning at 6am. Sat on a plastic stool, ordered chai I didn't even finish, and painted for two hours while the guy who runs the shop kept peering over my shoulder and saying "akka, colour kammi" meaning I wasn't using enough colour. He wasn't wrong.

Came home and finished it on the table. And I don't know, I just sat there looking at it and felt something I don't feel often, like it actually came out the way I wanted. The light, the shadows from the awning, the old board with the faded name. Took a photo, sent it to my husband, and he said "that's the one" without me even asking.

I never know how to take compliments on my work. But I think I'll frame this one. For myself.

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5 comments

Camille Laurent·1h

There's something about painting a place that's about to disappear, isn't there. You're not just recording it, you're pushing back against the erasure, a little. And that guy leaning over your shoulder at 6am telling you "colour kammi", that's the kind of critique you can't get in a studio. He's not wrong either, from the sounds of it. These places have their own colour temperature, their own light. Glad you got it down before the redevelopment comes.

Ananya IyerOP·54m

Honestly, I think he's right but also... that grey-gold morning light is its own thing, you know? If I'd gone full colour it wouldn't be 6am anymore, it'd be some other time of day. He's seeing it through his eyes, I'm seeing it through mine. Both valid.

Gloria Mae Jackson·10m

That's the thing, isn't it. You can't get that kind of feedback from anybody with a degree. That man's been in that shop probably forty years, he knows what that place looks like in every kind of light there is. He's earned the right to say "colour kammi" over your shoulder at dawn.

And you're right about the erasure part. My grandmother used to say a quilt's got to hold what otherwise gets forgot. Sounds to me like you did the same thing with a paintbrush. That building may come down but that morning's caught now, and that man's voice is caught right there with it. That's a kind of saving.

Niall Doherty·1h

Ah this is gorgeous. The "akka, colour kammi" has me smiling, sure you can't buy feedback like that, delivered straight over your shoulder at half-six in the morning. And he's not wrong either, is he, but that's the thing, the painting knows what it's doing. That kind of quiet morning light doesn't need much colour, it needs the right colour.

Forty years that shop's been there. That's the kind of place you want to catch before it's gone, and you've caught it. Fair play to you for getting out and doing it, the hardest part of any of it is sitting down on the plastic stool and committing. Everything after that's just the good bit.

Would love to see it properly if you've a photo of the painting itself, not just the setup.

Ananya IyerOP·58m

He's not wrong at all, na? I keep looking at it now and wondering if I should've gone bolder. But there's something about that light at 6am, it's so soft and grey-gold, anything too bright would've felt wrong. So I'm telling myself it's a choice, not timidity 😅

And yes, exactly that, sitting on the stool is the whole battle. Once you're there, you're there. The chai guy was nice about it actually, brought me a second cup I didn't ask for and refused payment. I think he was pleased someone wanted to paint his shop. Forty years and he's still there, making chai, watching the neighbourhood change around him.